No Perspective - Maria Robinson

You want to remember what discovering your life was like, but all you can think of is how many things you haven't seen. When you wander barefoot into your kitchen in the morning, your feet on the cold concrete, the promise of steamy black coffee seems the only goal in life. You tug on the white roman shades, there's a tiny sliced off view of Central Park, a feather of green leaves waving in the wind. Your nubbly Italian jacket and thin pencil skirt are laid out, flat, albeit chic scarecrows. The silky silicone makeup base, the wine red lipstick, a spritz of the Parisian cologne that smells like the wood. And where are you going with the briefcase and skyscraper heels?